


Blair's Dissertation

by Bluewolf458



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Sentinel Thursday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9470618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Bluewolf458
Summary: Naomi realizes the mistake she made when she sent Blair's dissertation to Sid Graham





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sentinel Tursday prompt 'brilliant'

Blair's Dissertation

by Bluewolf

I know I'm prejudiced... but I think you'll agree that my son Blair is brilliant.

He never attended any one school for long - my doing, I'm afraid, and I did realize that I could be handicapping him by not letting him have unbroken schooling, but there was nowhere I could leave him, nobody I could leave him with while I travelled the world. Yes, I could have stopped travelling and settled down somewhere, but I had my reasons for never staying in any one place for more than three or four months. And Blair picked up the basics of a lot of languages as we travelled; indeed, once he was about ten, I was able to use him as an interpreter - as an adult I was far slower to learn a new language than Blair.

He was just sixteen when he applied to go to Rainier as an anthropology student. I was so proud when he was accepted! And his youth was no handicap to him; He had both his BA and his Masters by the time he was twenty.

His plan was to go for a doctorate, but he decided to have a gap year while he considered a subject.

I knew he had been obsessed with the idea of tribal watchmen ever since he found an ancient book on the subject when he was fourteen. As I remember, we were in Montevideo at the time.

I had always discouraged him from amassing many possessions - apart from a photo album I own little apart from several changes of clothes, and I had always told Blair how possessions just weigh you down. Have nothing you would regret losing, if circumstances decreed that you had to abandon everything and run, has long been my motto.

So I was horrified when he said he wanted to keep this book. A book written in somewhat old-fashioned English that he'd found in a junk shop in a Spanish-speaking country, it hadn't cost him much; but he insisted that its appeal lay in its age. Even at fourteen he knew he wanted to study anthropology, and this book would let him compare the attitude of the nineteenth century with that of the twentieth.

He had leaned on it for his Master’s thesis... but he had found nobody with the range of excellent sensory awareness that the book spoke of, and knew that to do a doctoral dissertation leaning on the same book would simply be rewriting the thesis he had already done.

Most of his university expenses were covered by scholarships and grants and I gave him an allowance - I had inherited a lot of money from my grandparents, and although my parents had disowned me when I admitted that I was pregnant and claimed I had no idea who the father was, they could do nothing to prevent me from claiming that money. In fact, I did know who, and it's why I never stayed long in any one place in case he found me, but...

No. I'm telling you about Blair, not about how, at fifteen, I was fooled by...

No.

Although he didn't have any worries about money, Blair, from the time he was old enough to be employed, had spent his summers working, and he picked up quite a few skills. I thought he would spend that year honing at least one of those skills... and I was horrified when he told me he had joined the air force and was training to be a helicopter pilot. I didn't hear anything more until he contacted me to say he had been injured, and was out of the air force.

Injured?

Finally he admitted where...

Desert Storm! Goddess! He had been flying Apaches in DESERT STORM!

Luckily the injury, although severe enough for him to be invalided out, healed well and he was able to resume a normal life.

He tried to persuade me that joining the air force had been a sort of anthropological study, and that once in he had had to obey orders - and yes, I could see that, but to join the air force when everyone knew a war was probably imminent... it made Blair one of the jack-booted thugs who march to enforce the will of leaders who lack all moral sense! What it has done to his karma...

And that was probably why he began to study the police. He had already joined the ranks of the thugs.

What a waste of his brilliant mind...

I have to admit, though, that I found Blair's police acquaintances - I refuse to call them his friends - had more of a moral sense than I expected.

And then, one day when I visited Blair... he had just finished the first draft of his dissertation. I have to admit I was curious - just what _had_ his subject covered? But he asked me not to read it, saying he still had to second draft it, then rushed away, saying he'd see me later.

He'd always been more critical of his own work than anyone else ever was, so I thought that a bit of reassurance from a professional source might be a good thing - and so I sent it to my editor friend Sid Graham, stressing that it was only for assessment.

But in a way Sid let me down.

I wasn't really surprised at Sid's enthusiastic response, though I _was_ surprised at the speed with which he was pushing the thing for publication - usually there's a fair while between submission and publication. And I was more than surprised by Blair's reaction.

Of course, once I knew that it was about Jim and his almost unique senses, I understood.

Because I was the one who sent it to Sid, I contacted Sid again to withdraw the manuscript, and found him altogether too carried away by the subject to listen to reason. But I had to do something...

And so I called a press conference in my capacity as Blair's 'agent'.

I looked around the gathered reporters, nervous, worried... would they believe me?  They had to! - and began.

"Thank you all for coming.

"I know you've all seen the extracts released by Berkshire Publishing from 'The Sentinel', the alleged dissertation by Blair Sandburg.

"This was not, was never intended to be, Blair's dissertation. His dissertation is about relationships inside the police department.

"The theme of a tribal guardian with heightened senses was something Blair found in a book almost a hundred years old, and referred only to people living a hunter-gatherer life. Although he did base his Master's thesis on the content of that book, he knew that the idea of heightened senses was considered, even at the time the book was first published, as an exotic traveller's tale, something made up to impress a non-travelling public. However, having met a few people working for tea or coffee blenders who clearly had an enhanced sense of taste, he knew that heightened senses were possible, and began to wonder how someone with all five senses enhanced would react in today's civilized world. 'The Sentinel' was something he was writing to address that personal curiosity, done for his own amusement, the amusement of his friend Jim Ellison, and possibly their friends in the police department.

"I knew Blair was close to finishing his dissertation, and thought I would be helpful by sending it to an editor at Berkshire Publishing for editorial comment. Unfortunately, I didn't actually know what the dissertation was about, and - having only glanced at the first two or three sentences - I sent Mr. Graham the wrong document. Not my most brilliant hour.

"Mr. Graham thought that 'The Sentinel' was worth publishing, and worth publicising as fact; that he considered it as 'fact' was totally my fault.

"Quite simply - the documentation 'proving' that Detective Ellison is a sentinel is something Blair made up for a piece of fiction never meant to be seen by anyone outside the Major Crime department of Cascade PD.

"I can only apologise to Mr. Graham, to Blair Sandburg and to Detective Ellison for putting them into this situation."

Ignoring the shouted questions from the reporters, I pushed my way out of the room. Once in the corridor, I ran, ducked around a corner and made my way to Blair's cramped office. I could hide out there until the reporters dispersed.

It took hours, but eventually the reporters left, I managed to get to my car and drove back to the loft. Luckily there were no reporters lurking outside.

Both Jim and Blair were there. Both were grateful for what I'd done. We had a pleasant evening together, and next morning I left early to drive back to Seattle, where I had hired the car. The best thing for me to do, in the short term, was get away from America. As I drove, I thought about where to go. Norway, perhaps? I hadn’t been there for some years.

After thirty years, I'm tired of travelling, of never staying long in one place. But I know that Blair's father is still looking for me; and the last thing I want is for him to find me. Giving the press conference was a risk, but I owed it to Blair.

So what choice do I have?

I just have to keep on moving...


End file.
